Return from King's Cross
by corbinsky
Summary: When Harry Potter sacrificed himself for those he loved, he saw Dumbledore one last time. All his questions became clear, and he was given a chance to go back. What he didn't realize was that going back would cost him the memory of his entire past. Waking up in the Forbidden forest, Harry could not recognize the face of the villain standing before him or even recall his own name.
1. Chapter 1

**AN-A new story! Some of the lines from chapter one were taken directly from Deathly Hallows and are the property of J.K. Rowling. I claim no ownership over these or any characters or themes. Thanks for reading!**

**"_Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?"_**

**"_Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"_**

* * *

The white light faded and burned black. There were galaxies behind his eyes, deep pools of swirling light dusted with stars. He was weightless on his way down, so when Harry Potter hit the forest floor and woke up, he felt as if he was hit with a shattering electric charge.

He opened his eyes and saw a tilted view. _Where am I?_ He attempted to place a date, a time, any fragment of memory to where he was and why. In his desperate search, he failed to place his own name. His mind was a black hole. All he could find was one shard of light surrounded by warmth and accompanied with the sound of a deep, comforting voice of someone he thought he should know but could not place a face.

_What is happening to me? Who am I?_

The ground was cold and smelt of decay mixed with fresh growing things, a contradiction he failed to connect. There was pain everywhere from his burning forehead to the odd lump underneath him sticking with something long, narrow, and solid, like a stick. It was dark and difficult to see, and he was not alone.

There were voices nearby but none spoke to him. They did not seem to notice he was there. There was concern for another on the ground, a pale figure in a black robe getting to his feet. When he looked at him, his forehead pumped with a fresh surge of pain. He closed his eyes with blood pulsing in his temples like drumbeats.

"The boy…is he dead?"

The boy? Him, he was the boy, and they were coming closer. One was touching him, a woman with cold, probing fingers and flowing hair. He almost didn't dare breathe. How did he get there? Who were these people and what did they want? Would they kill him if he ran? Could he even move? His body felt like a dead weight on the ground. The pain was so strong he was sure it would kill him before anyone else. He wished it would. Maybe he would wake up from whatever obscure dream he had landed in and remember who he was.

"Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?" The woman asked him in a barely audible desperate whisper.

What was she talking about? Castle? What was this? _Wake up, wake up!_

His eyes opened a fraction and met the anxiousness glinting in hers. Somehow she found her answer in his frightened gaze because she moved away quickly and left him lying limply.

"He is dead," she told the others for reasons he could not imagine.

There had to be a way out, he thought through the shouts and yells of triumph. There was flashes of alarming light mixed with the chilling sound of laughter from the man in the black robes. He was like walking death. Unbearable to look at.

"Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now!"

Harry Potter. That was a name he thought he recognized. There was familiarity to it which gave him a surge of relief. He knew his name. He had nothing else, but he knew his name. Now, he had to think. He had to get out of there and find out more.

The rippled of laughter from the lurking crowd of unseen faces interrupted Harry's thoughts. There was more movement nearby as the ground shook slightly. Something with very heavy footsteps was advancing to where he lay.

"You carry him," the face of death commanded. "He will be nice and visible in your arms, will he not? Pick up your little friend, Hagrid. And the glasses— put on the glasses— he must be recognizable—"

Harry's glasses were shoved back on his face as enormous hands lifted him off the ground. Through his half-closed eyelids he saw what carried him. Something most assuredly from a nightmare. A giant, a hairy beast of the forest.

Overcome by his fear, Harry fell into deep unconsciousness.

* * *

This time, when he awoke, there was no celestial lights to greet him. He was not falling, he was flying. Strangely, the sensation gave him comfort. Harry hoped he was nearing the end of the dream. Or perhaps he had arrived at a new state of being where he would float for eternity. It did not matter that he could not recall anything as long as he could remain where he was in naive bliss.

Too good to be true, he plunged into icy reality and returned from his deep sleep to find himself still in the arms of the giant. A gentle giant, he quickly realized, who was less frightening in the shift of light. Hagrid had moved him at the bidding of the fiends who surrounded them. Harry could make out the edge of a line of trees and bright stars overhead which were like seeing an odd side-by-side photograph of his unconscious view and the backdrop to his nightmare. Was he in the stars or on the ground? Was he flying or being carried?

"Are yeh happy Harry Potter's— d-dead…?" The giant sobbed with such howling force that Harry nearly scrambled from his arms. The desire to run was strong, but he dared not move or give away his advantage. They would not kill someone they already thought was dead. He willed himself to remain limp.

"Stop," the black robed leader commanded. Footsteps ceased and the giant abruptly stood still.

The air was frigid. Harry could feel it in his lungs like despair. He wished he was dead as he fought to maintain control on his senses and not blackout again. Why couldn't he remember anything? There had to be something. He could not have simply started to exist the moment he lay in the forest. He dug deep in the recesses of his mind and came up with nothing but a snapshot of fleeting shadows and darkness followed by warm, soothing white light and that calming voice without a face.

"Harry Potter is dead!" The booming, magnified voice of evil rent the air and yanked Harry from his fleeting memory. His head throbbed as he caught the words "war" "castle" and "new world" through the ringing in his ears. Harry opened his eyes just enough to see the Lord of Darkness walk by with a great, slithering serpent slung over his shoulders.

They began to move again, out of the trees into the open air. In the distance Harry saw a towering building made of stone with many turrets and windows. When they drew near, the Dark Lord commanded them to stop once again. Debris lay like a war zone dotted with the pale faces of battle-scarred men, women, and children.

"No!" Someone screamed at the sight of him lying in Hargid's arms. Despair was echoed in the yard before mingled with threats and curses from a growing crowd around the open castle door.

"Silence!" There was a bang and a flash of bright light. "It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs."

Harry did not want to be set down. He wanted to cling to the warmth of the great man's thick coat and use it as a shield against the cold, hard wrath of the thing which hovered like a skeletal grim reaper. He forced himself to lie motionless on the broken slate courtyard as the Lord taunted the spectators and goaded them into shouting their passionate contradictions to his lies.

_Wake up, wake up, wake up!_ It could not be real, this place, these happenings. Whoever Harry Potter was, Harry wished he wasn't him.

A flash of light darted across the courtyard from the direction of the crowd. "Dumbledore's Army!" someone yelled.

Harry's heart hammered. He could not explain the sudden excitement in his chest. He did not recognize the voice or the phrase it so bravely shouted, but something in the tone gave him hope built on the cheers from the masses.

"Very well," the Dark Lord sneered. His voice also caught Harry's attention and caused him to peer through his lashes with his breath held in anxious anticipation. The leader of the black army raised a thin stick and pointed. Somewhere glass shattered and drew the attention of the crowd to the windows of the castle.

_The stick…_ Harry made a connection and made an imperceptible move with his hand to touch the place under his clothes where he had felt the odd shape of a something underneath. This thing the Lord held was a weapon, and Harry had one two.

In the confusion of the Dark Lord's attack on the one who yelled "Dumbledore's Army!" and the sudden increase of noise from newcomers arriving on the scene, Harry was able to extract the stick from its hiding place along with a shimmering piece of cloth which padded it. He did not know what to think of the cloth, but used it to shield his face from the chaos going on around him. Raising the stick, he looked at it closer.

_Wand,_ he thought without effort. The word came from nowhere but made perfect sense. In all of the bewilderment and panic, this was one thing that felt the most certain. But, what to do with it?

The Dark Lord's screams rent the air. Harry looked up and found the cloth was sheer and see-through. He instantly saw the snake lying on blood-splattered stone, dead. Its master was furious as he raised his wand at the sword wielding perpetrator of the serpent's beheading.

Without thinking, Harry mimicked the defensive gesture and cast light from that strange and powerful stick. His fingers tingled and felt alive. _Protego…_ His mind formed words without his help. An out-of-body phenomenon which caused him to break into a sweat. What was he doing?

What did it matter? He wanted to do it again.

Over and over as he moved through the chaos with the shimmering fabric shield pulled over his face and his wand disrupting any move the Dark Army tried to take. He followed the fighting inside with an unexplained pull to be where the action was and witness the end of the Great Evil with his own eyes.

Why not? It was his dream. Why not see the finale?

The fighting grew so intense that Harry found himself watching more than participating. People were dying. These fireworks of brilliant shades of light were lethal and the thought almost made him run for cover.

The Dark Lord was losing and the knowledge of this made him angry. He moved to end the life a woman who valiantly took out one of his own.

Harry interceded with the one spell at his disposal and cast a shield to protect her.

In his surprise, the Dark Lord searched for the source of the interference.

Harry stepped back and dropped the shimmering cloak. The surrounding army of duelers gasp in shock and surprise.

"Harry!"

"He's alive!"

The exclamations were stifled as Evil faced Harry straight on. Rooted to the spot, Harry clutched the wand in his hand hardly daring to breath. His mind raced through shadows and constellations for an answer that made sense. A word, a memory, anything that would realign this madness with sense. This cloaked corpse with leering fangs was poised to strike and kill him for good. The only thing that came to mind for Harry's defense was one word. As the Dark Lord called his death knell curse with weapon raised, the boy's instincts drove him to use his wand and shout, "_Expelliarmus!"_

What had he done? _How _had he done it?

Harry could only stand in shock as the room erupted in cheers. He was sickened by the sight which had played out before his eyes. The Evil was gone, the Dark Lord's wand was in Harry's hand. He did not recall catching it, but there it was. People were jostling him and hugging him from all sides, and all he could do was stand there amazed.

Faces filled with joy swam before his vision. They shouted his praises while he swayed on his feet.

"Harry!" A young woman shouted in his ear as she swallowed him in an erratic embrace and engulfed him with a bushy halo of hair with tears on her cheeks. "You're alive!"

"You did it, mate!" A grinning ginger slapped him on the arm.

His female likeness appeared and smiled at Harry with a look of amazement and awe in her sparkling brown eyes. "Harry," she pulled him in with her arms around his neck before kissing him warmly on the mouth.

Harry moved away, stared with uneasiness at the mass of strange faces, and made his escape from the castle.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was rising over the mountains and casting golden hues on the treetops surrounding the battle-worn school grounds. Harry could scarcely take it all in. He moved quickly across the courtyard covered in rubble and searched for a way out. He had no idea where he was or where to go, he only knew he needed space to think and steady his nerve. Perhaps if he returned to the place where he had first awoken there would be some clue as to why he was there and what happened to him.

Harry stopped on the open lawn and looked around. There was a lake, the forest, and a ragged garden with some sort of hut nearby. Everything looked abused by destructive forces. _What happened here?_ he wondered. He felt he should know. He felt he was wrapped up in it all without knowing why. He just wanted answers!

"Harry?" A thin voice carried on a cool breeze.

Harry glanced back to see two forms advancing from the open doors of the massive castle. One was the bushy-haired girl who had hugged him first; the other was the red-headed bloke. He wracked his brain for any memory of the two and came up blank like everything else.

"Harry! Are you alright?" They moved alongside him with expressions of confusion and concern. One of them touched his arm which caused Harry to react, backing away from them toward the nearby lake shore.

"You're missing your own party, mate."

"Hush, Ron! Harry, no one blames you if you're not in the mood to celebrate. Things have calmed down now. Come inside and rest." The girl stepped forward before stopping abruptly in hurt amazement when Harry put up a hand between them and backed further away. "What's wrong?"

"Don't— Whoever you are, don't, please."

Ron looked offended by this. "What are you playing at? Don't talk like that to Hermione—"

"It's alright," Hermione interrupted him. "You're in shock, Harry. You've been through a lot."

"Have I?" Harry snapped while glancing around looking for an escape again. "What _exactly_ have I been through?"

"You defeated Voldemort," Ron said while pointing back at the castle. "You were there, remember? It was two minutes ago. You saved my mum."

"You saved all of us," Hermione added. There were fresh tears in her eyes mixed with apprehension. Ron may not have understood Harry's odd behavior, but she was beginning to and it worried Hermione a great deal. "What happened in the forest? What did Voldemort do to you? He said you were dead."

"Voldemort?" Harry asked breathlessly. Didn't they get it? "I don't know who that is! I don't know your mum," he gestured to Ron. "I don't know you!" This time he included Hermione in his wave. "I don't even know who I am!"

"What?" Ron was baffled by this. "You're joking. He's joking!" He didn't seem to think that it was the time or the place for jests. "You've gone mental, that's what."

"Ron—"

"No, Fred is dead! All these people are dead, for _him_, and he's having a laugh."

"I'm not!" Harry argued. "I'm sorry, but I'm not. Whoever died, whoever Fred is—"

"_Whoever Fred is_?" Ron snapped and looked ready to hurt him before Hermione stepped in.

"Alright!" she ended it. "Go inside," she ordered Ron. "You should be with your family. Tell Ginny we found him. Go, Ron!" She insisted on his attention and cooperation.

"Right," he muttered with a dark look at Harry as he left.

Hermione waited until he was out of earshot before addressing Harry once again. "Tell me what you remember."

Harry shrugged and shook his head with exhaustion while trying to recall the timeline of events which had led him there. "I woke up in the forest. This man in a robe—"

"Voldemort."

"Yeah, I suppose. This Voldemort, he was there with some others."

"The Death Eaters."

"Right, sure." These names meant nothing to him in his stress. He didn't give himself time to discover if they held any significance. "They took me here. I wasn't dead, not ever." At least he didn't think so. "I don't know. I can't remember what happened before waking up. There was some light, I think? A voice…"

"A voice?" Hermione looked intrigued through her concern. "What did it sound like?"

"I don't know. Soothing, I guess."

"Wizard or witch?"

"What?"

"Male or female?" she clarified.

"Male," he answered with assurance for the first time. It was definitely a male.

"What did he say?"

Harry shook his head again. "I don't remember. It was in a bright place, but I can't remember what it looked like."

Hermione frowned while trying to understand what was happening to him. "Harry, this is bad. You can't remember _anything_? Nothing at all before the forest?"

"Just the light and the voice."

The fear in her eyes caused his panic to rise once again. This girl, this Hermione, covered in dust, scarred from battle, with so much compassion for his plight. She must have meant something to him. She must be important, but he didn't know why. He _really_ wished he knew why.

"Alright," Hermione tried to think. "Right, well, there has to be a solution to this. Maybe Voldemort cast some sort of spell on you. Maybe an intensely strong _obliviate_ spell. No, that would have worn off by now, wouldn't it?" She was talking to herself, and Harry didn't feel he should interrupt. "It would have ended once you killed him."

_Killed him_. Harry suddenly recalled what he had done. The thought made him feel sick, and he looked down at the pair of wands still in his hands before dropping them on the ground. The action caused Hermione to look up and cease her reasoning.

"Who, exactly, did I kill?" he asked carefully.

"The darkest wizard of all time."

Harry nodded without fully comprehending the enormity of this. "Am I…a wizard?"

"One of the best," she responded.

It was all so surreal. What was he supposed to say to that? "I need to go," he stated suddenly and turned around. He had seen a gate. That would be a way out.

"You can't!" Hermione stopped him desperately. "Harry, please. Where would you go? Everything you have is here. _Please_. Just wait until we can figure this out. There has to be a way, and here, here you have everyone who loves you."

"Yeah, but I don't know who they are!" Harry looked at her and the imposing castle behind her.

"But you will," she insisted. "Just stay for now, alright? For now."

It took him a moment to respond, but when he did, Harry nodded and gave in to her request and walked slowly back up the hill to the courtyard.

Hermione stooped down, picked up the pair of wands in the grass, and turned to follow.

Inside the castle foyer, noise from the Great Hall sounded muffled through the half-closed doors. Hermione looked in but motioned for Harry to stay put. "Maybe you should go upstairs and rest," she advised him.

Harry looked at the wide staircase. "Go where, exactly?"

"The common room," she responded before realizing what he was asking. "Oh, right. You don't remember that either?"

His expression encouraged her to assume that he knew nothing.

"I'll show you." She led the way up the stairs. "You do realize how strange this is for us, don't you?"

"I hadn't given it much thought." There hadn't been time with all the stress that came with not knowing who he was.

"Harry!"

They stopped and looked back as someone appeared in the doorway of the Hall. It was the redhead who had been kind enough to kiss Harry in the celebration earlier.

"Ginny," Hermione acknowledged her and turned back to head her off. "I told Ron to tell you—"

"That you found him, yeah I know. What's happened?"

"I'll explain when I get back. I'm going to take him to the common room."

"Why?" Ginny demanded with her gaze on Harry. She didn't know what was going on with him, but she didn't like it. "Are you alright? Ron said you were acting odd. You left your Invisibility Cloak." She held it out for him to take, but Harry did not move from where he stood several steps up with his hand on the banister.

"I'll explain later," Hermione repeated and took the cloak for him.

"Harry," Ginny pleaded for him to look at her. Ron was right; there was something very wrong with him. "It's alright now. Voldemort's gone."

Harry took the cloak as Hermione climbed the stairs and handed it to him. He dropped his gaze without replying and focused on the shimmering material slipping through his fingers. It made him invisible? That was useful.

"We need to go." Hermione pushed him along as others near the door of the Great Hall began to notice he was there. "Cover for us, Ginny," she instructed. "Give me some time, please?"

Ginny didn't seem thrilled with the request, but she backed off and turned to give an excuse for those wishing to congratulate the hero of the day.

"Put it on." Hermione indicated the cloak. "That way we won't get delayed."

They quickly made their way up numerous flights of stairs in the semi darkness. Torches sat cold and unlit in their brackets and very few windows allowed in sunlight from outside. Hermione stopped in front of a framed portrait of an enormous woman as Harry pulled the cloak free from his face. Much to his alarm, the painting instantly began to praise him for his results in the duel against Voldemort. Hermione quickly cut her off by shouting a password at the lady who abruptly sloshed half a glass of wine down her frills and lace.

The portrait swung open, and Hermione pulled Harry by the hand through the hole behind it. It was lighter in the common room, a warm, comforting glow which swirled in streams of dust mites and beamed across worn carpets. There was a lumpy sofa in the middle of the room which looked inviting.

"Sit." Hermione instructed.

Harry complied by sinking onto the cushions and dropping his weary head against the backrest. He watched with a sense of awe as she pulled out her wand and instantly started a fire in the cold grate beneath the mantle. The ease of her actions reminded him of the exciting charge he received while using a wand earlier that morning. Was he really a wizard? It made sense, he supposed. Those words, those spells he had so easily recalled, they had to come from somewhere.

"So, where are we?" he asked when Hermione turned away from the fireplace. "What is this place?" He gestured to the castle in general. He didn't know the right words to describe it, but it seemed like a stronghold of some fashion. Did all wizards and witches reside there to protect themselves from other evil wizards?

She sat down beside him on the sofa. "It's a school. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

_Hogwarts._ The title filled him with the same sense of hope as hearing his own name spoken to him. "Do I go here?"

"You did." She nodded and pulled her hair out of her face, tucking a strand behind her ear.

Harry studied her carefully. He wanted so much to find something familiar in her face. "Did you?" he asked.

"We started together, years ago." Hermione smiled fondly. "You, me, and Ron. Ginny too, a year after."

"Ginny…"

"Your girlfriend? The one who brought you the cloak…"

"Right." He got it now. "That would be why she kissed me."

"Yes." Hermione laughed. "That would be why."

They fell into awkward silence for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized after a while. "I'm trying here."

"I know," she assured him before reaching for his hand and squeezing it tightly. "We'll figure this out, Harry. I promise. But—" she got to her feet, "right now you need to rest. Are you hungry? I can find you something from the kitchens. I should go and explain a few things to the others, but I'm sure Kreacher would be willing to bring you a sandwich."

"What's a creature?" Harry asked and immediately was surprised the sudden arrival of a small, wrinkled being with a snout for a nose. The _crack_ of sound which announced the house elf's arrival caused Harry to yell in alarm and jump off the sofa before colliding into Hermione in his effort to place her between him and the elf.

"You called, Master Harry?" Kreacher asked with an awkward bow.

"It's okay," Hermione assured Harry. "They're really quite lovely when you get to know them."

"I'll bet," he muttered weakly.

"Kreacher, could you be so kind as to bring Harry something to eat? What is the state of the kitchens?"

"They are in full working order," Kreacher croaked with a stiff nod.

"Excellent, thank you. When you are able, please bring Harry a sandwich and some pumpkin juice. Is that alright?"

Kreacher bowed in Harry's direction once more and vanished with another _crack_.

"Are there more of those?" Harry asked once he was gone.

"Yes, many more." Hermione directed him back to the sofa again and prepared to leave the common room. "Sleep, Harry. I'll be back with Ron as soon as I can. I may stop at the library first. Hopefully most of the books are intact. There's got to be something in there that can give us a clue as to what happened to you." She stopped at the portrait hole and glanced back. "Sleep," she repeated. "Maybe that's all it would take to get your memory back."

Harry hoped she was right and had no trouble complying.

* * *

There was a great deal of hushed conversation going on in the room. It interrupted his deep sleep and caused Harry to startle awake. He had the disorienting sensation of having awoken with no memory again before images of Death Eaters, Voldemort with a wand, and headless snakes abruptly flashed before his mind's eye. He blinked and looked around. The common room was darker but the fire was still blazing. Several of the chairs were filled with figures deep in discussion around him. Harry glanced at several and discovered with a sinking feeling that he still did not know who they were. He quickly looked for Hermione and found her standing nearby talking to that girl Ginny. _Your girlfriend,_ he reminded himself. It was a strange thought he didn't have time to dwell on. Both girls looked at him at the same moment and realized he was awake.

"Harry!" Hermione crossed the room with Ginny close behind. The entire group turned and looked at him, immediately jumping in to give their encouragement and well-wishes to Harry.

"How are you, son?" A wizard in disheveled robes reached for his hand for a vigorous shake.

"Take it easy, Arthur." A witch with a beaming smile moved in next. "Harry, dear, Hermione filled us in. I cannot hardly believe it. No memory at all?"

"Mum, let the man breathe," Ron muttered from his chair near the fire. He met Harry's eye without a smile before sharing a cautious glance with Hermione.

Each of the faces which sat before Harry had a look of weary despair mixed with relief. They all appeared to have been through a great ordeal and seemed merely to be resting before moving on to the next crisis.

"I imagine this is hard for you." Ron's mother sat beside Harry on the sofa. "We want you to know we are here for you, just as you've always been there for us. Whatever you need, dear, anything. Any questions you have, we will answer them until this is straightened out."

Harry sat up straight in his seat and darted glances at all of them. "Alright," he began. "Who are you?"

A young man with a missing ear, who was obviously another member of the same family, chuckled in his seat across from Ron. "You were right," he told his brother. "He has lost his marbles."

"Oh, George," their mother scolded. "This is no laughing matter."

"Nothing is now, mum," he responded with his head down.

They moved on from there to each re-introduce themselves to a long-time friend. They told him the stories of how they had met, what they had gone through in their fight against Voldemort, and broke the news that the Dark Lord had murdered his parents so many years before. It was a lot for Harry to take in all at once. There were moments where things they were saying had a ring of familiarity, like fresh _déjá vu_, which he would lose instantly as they doused him with a stream of more details.

"There has to be a solution to this," Hermione voiced at one point. "When I was researching removing the memory of me from my parents' minds, I also looked up how to reverse the spell. Wouldn't it work in this case also?"

"It's possible," Arthur agreed.

"Let's have it then!"

"Now hold on, Molly," he stopped his wife. "We don't know that it will work for certain. This is different. As far as we can tell, Harry hasn't had a spell put on him. It seems as if the effects of Voldemort's killing curse cause it. We could do a great deal of further damage if we are not careful."

"Then what?" Harry asked. "What do we do?"

"There are some potions and poultices that may have some effect," Arthur considered their options thoughtfully. "It will take some experimenting and a great deal of research."

"Which cannot be done tonight," Molly ascertained. "Arthur? Shall we go home or find beds here for the night?"

"I think home would be best. We can make arrangements for Fred tomorrow. Percy, will you be coming with?" He asked another one of his sons standing silently behind George's chair. Percy nodded and agreed to come. "Good! Harry, Hermione, you are welcome to join us also."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Hermione nodded. "That would be nice."

Harry looked uneasy. He had begun to grow comfortable in the shelter of the common room. He wasn't sure if he liked the idea of going to some another new place to encounter more strange happenings.

"Come along, Harry," Molly encourage him as everyone got to their feet.

"It's alright." Hermione nodded when he looked to her. "We'll go to the Burrow. You've been there before, many times."

"It's home, Harry, my boy." Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. "A strong cuppa and one of Molly's biscuits, that's all you need."

"A bottle of firewiskey more like," Ron muttered.

"I'm with you on that," George agreed before they passed out of the portrait hole on their way out of the castle.

* * *

Harry didn't think he could experience anything worse than what he had gone through already that morning until he had to apparate. The whole twenty-second ordeal was enough to make him want to lose his memory all over again. Harry gripped tightly to Hermione's arm as she turned on the spot outside the Hogwart's gates and sped them spinning to a location far from the school. When they landed, Harry stumbled and withheld the urge to vomit.

"Are you alright?" Hermione held him upright.

"I'm fine," he murmured and took a steady breath before letting go and looking up at the Burrow standing like a crooked tree growing out of the marshy ground. "This is a house?"

"It's home to us." Ron stepped up beside them. "It was to you once too." He left them to follow his parents and siblings inside. Molly and Arthur used their wands to light lanterns and candles which quickly cast warm glows through the many windows.

Hermione passed Harry a reassuring smile. "He's still trying to adjust to this," she referred to Ron. "Just like you. Just like all of us. He lost one of his brothers last night. He didn't expect to lose his best friend too."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she told him. "It's not your fault."

"Feels like it."

They nearly entered the house when Harry was stopped by Ginny taking his hand.

"Hold on," she told him and waited until Hermione had disappeared inside before leading him a few steps into the privacy of the garden.

An uneasiness slipped into Harry's stomach once again. His palm began to sweat, and he wished she would release it so he could tuck his hand safely away.

"I wanted a moment," Ginny began while leaning in to intimate levels of discomfort for Harry. "I wanted to tell you…well, last night I thought I would never see you again. With everything that's happened, that's the one thing I couldn't let myself think of. When I saw Hargid carrying you, when Voldemort said you were dead… Merlin, Harry, I thought that was the end. First Fred, then you. I couldn't take it. Whatever happened to you in the forest is not as terrible as the alternative. You'll get your memory back, I know it." With that, she slipped a cool hand on the back of his neck, drew him in and kissed him deeply. It was a kiss to stir emotions and encourage a flashback to their recent past.

It was a great kiss, but for Harry it did nothing but make him more nervous than he already was. Pulling away first, he disappointed her with his expression of distress. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I can't." It wasn't right. Whatever history they shared, whatever feelings Ginny had for him, he had just met her. He didn't feel comfortable with any of it.

Dropping her hand, Harry excused himself quickly and stepped inside.

* * *

Mrs. Weasley was a gracious host and she knew what Harry needed to make him feel at home. He was shown to the bathroom to freshen up with the promise that tea would be waiting when he was done. He was grateful for privacy and a place where he could think.

Standing under the spray of a hot shower, he ran through all of the information he had received about his past. Despite hearing that Voldemort had killed his parents along with almost every meaningful person in his life, Harry couldn't stop the nagging, gut-twisting feeling of guilt he carried for killing a man. Hermione and Mr. Weasley had tried to make him see that his actions with the wands simply allowed Voldemort's curse to rebound on himself. It was nice to hear, but didn't make Harry feel better. He couldn't get the sight of that skeletal, serpent face lying vacant on the floor out of his head. Less than twelve hours of recall and all his memories were plagued with horror.

_Not all,_ he thought after toweling dry and facing his reflection in the mirror. There was Ginny's kiss, which was something even if he didn't know how to feel about it. Although she would probably never do it again after how he had reacted. Harry replaced his glasses and frowned at himself while examining the face he knew was his but felt was a stranger. He ran a hand through his damp, scruffy hair with a heavy sigh and tried to think positively.

There was the knowledge that there were so many standing by him. That was encouraging. They wanted to help him fix his memory as much as he did and seemed to have faith that they would be able to do it. Past or no past, he was grateful to have friends. Especially Hermione, who had been an even greater help and comfort from the start. If all witches were like her, he could see why he chose to live in the wizarding world. Perhaps _chose_ wasn't the right word. Did he choose it or did his powers choose him? That was one of the many things that weren't clear with the rushed explanation he had been given about his history. He had so many more questions and no energy to ask them.

Hanging up his towel to dry, he dressed in the clean t-shirt and jeans Hermione had magically pulled from her amazing bag of tricks she carried around. He hadn't bothered asking how she came to have so many of his things inside of it, but he was grateful to her once again. When he had undressed for his shower, he also found a moleskin pouch hanging from his neck. It did not contain as many items as Hermione's bag, but it was surprisingly roomy for something so small. Everything inside appeared old, broken, and unusable. He had no idea what to do with them or why he had found the need to carry around a splintered wand.

"Add that to the questions for Hermione," he said to himself, replacing the moleskin around his neck and leaving the bathroom to join the others for tea.

Outside on the landing, the sound of voices carried up the stairs from the kitchen. Harry stopped and listened.

"It won't do him any good to know," Molly argued with whoever sat around the table listening. "Some memories are worth forgetting altogether."

"But they're his family, Molly," Arthur objected.

"And when will he ever see them again? When would he want to? A ruder bunch of Muggles, I've never heard of."

"Muggles or no, Harry has a right to know the sort of people who raised him. It's not you're decision or mine."

"He should know, Mum," George agreed with his father.

"Why, so he can meet them and receive more abuse from the dunce-head Dudley?" Ron backed his mother.

"They're adults now," Hermione put in her two cents. "Things are different."

"Right," Ron snorted sarcastically. "Very different. He knows nothing, Hermione. Why enlighten him?"

"Alright," Arthur ended the argument. "There's plenty of time to figure this out later. For now, let's just be supportive. Can we agree to that?"

Murmurs of agreement rippled around the table before Molly offered to pour out the tea.

Harry pulled the bathroom door closed with enough force as to warn them of his arrival on the stairs. Covering his frustration with a blank expression, he stepped into the kitchen and ignored the guilty faces staring back at him.

"Have a seat, Harry!" Molly said warmly. "Let me take those dirty clothes and wash them for you, dear. Time for tea everyone!"


	3. Chapter 3

The mood around the table was strained and falsely chipper. Harry realized the Weasleys were trying hard for his sake, but they were fading fast. He wished they wouldn't bother. Without recalling the importance of the name, he could at least appreciate the weight of losing a loved one.

"Thank you," he told Molly after she handed him a steaming cup of tea. He assured her he could add his own sugar.

Molly looked relieved as she moved away and quietly removed a wrinkled and damp handkerchief from the hem of her sleeve to dab her red-rimmed eyes.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley spoke. "We believe there are options, methods we can try to retrieve your memory. We will begin experimenting as soon as possible to see what comes of it. In the meantime, we'll do what we can to help you remember. Everyone think of items or perhaps places we could reintroduce to Harry in order to jog his memory. Hogsmeade, King's Cross—"

"Diagon Alley," Ron suggested.

"The Shrieking Shack," Hermione input while reaching in her magnificent bag to withdraw a feather quill and a blank scrap of parchment. Digging for ink, she then began creating a list based off the suggestions from around the table.

"Yes," Arthur nodded at each one. "I think they all may help. Your experiences involving these places influenced a great deal of who you are as a wizard, Harry."

"Like wear I grew up?" he asked.

The table fell into uncomfortable silence. Everyone exchanged awkward glances and avoided his eye. Harry's tone was unmistakable. It was obvious he had overhead their previous conversation regarding his extended family.

"Who are they, these Muggles? Who did I live with after my parents were killed? Tell me," he insisted when no one offered to explain.

Hermione cleared her throat. "You're mother's sister, Petunia, her husband, Vernon, and your cousin, Dudley."

"And they're Muggles? They don't do magic?"

"Yes, they— Wait. You remember what a Muggle is?"

Harry had spoken without thinking and surprised even himself. "Yeah, I guess." He could remember that but not the faces of his aunt, uncle, or cousin. "I want to meet them. I need to go find them."

The response around the table was discouraging and unanimous. Mrs. Weasley frowned with worry as she sat down and pleaded with Harry to consider the situation carefully. George assured him he was better off in ignorant bliss. Ron agreed wholeheartedly with his brother. Hermione attempted to reason against entertaining the idea of a visit so soon.

"Hey!" Ginny interrupted to suspend the chaos. "Harry has a right, doesn't he?" she argued with a steady gaze across the table at him. "They're his family. He ought to know what they did to him."

"What?" Harry demanded. "What did they do?"

"They don't like magic," she explained plainly since it was obvious no one else was going to step up and tell him. "They don't like anything or anyone having to do with it."

"That's not entirely true," Hermione input and received a sharp glare from Ginny for the contradiction. "They were coming around, weren't they? They truly did love you, Harry. They were just horrible at showing it."

Either way, the information didn't change his mind. "I still need to see them."

"That's it then," Arthur decided it. "So you must, Harry, but please wait a day or two. It has only been a few hours. Perhaps we may see some improvement after a night's rest. Tomorrow we return to the school for Fred's remains. We must lay the dead to rest before we go on with anything else. After that we can lead you to your relatives. All in agreement?"

Everyone indicated that the plan did sound like the best course of action.

"Will we…" Harry almost dreaded asking, "will we be apparating again?"

Arthur smiled at his discomfort at the thought.

"Is there no other way for wizards to travel?" Harry asked next.

"There's always flying," Ron said and instantly peeked Harry's interest.

"We can fly?"

* * *

It was the freedom of the flight which excited Harry most. It wasn't confining or suffocating like apparating. He knew what to do without being told. His instincts on the broom kicked in immediately. For the first time since waking up lost, Harry felt alive.

"This is brilliant," he exclaimed as he dropped from the sky to the ground outside the Burrow where Hermione sat watching Harry, Ron, and Ginny flying over the nearby open field. "Ride with me," he encouraged her with an outstretched hand to help her on.

"No way," Hermione refused. "I don't fly."

"What do you mean? You're a witch, aren't you?"

"I prefer to apparate."

Harry didn't think that made any sense. "You don't use brooms at all?"

"Not if she can help it." Ron dropped in from above to land with a thud on the turf beside them. "Don't bother. She won't have anything to do with it."

It didn't seem right. Harry remained baffled as he watched Ginny glide effortlessly through the air with the toes of her trainers skirting the tall grass on the ground. She noticed him watching and quickly shot into the sky.

"Done already?" she goaded him back on his borrowed broom to return to the air for a brisk race over the garden.

"Which do you prefer, flying or apparating?" Harry asked Ginny as they veered to a stop mid-air and turned back.

"Flying definitely," she responded as if there was no other right answer to the question. "Apparating is faster, sure, but the skills are quite different. It's not as fun," she added before playfully shoving him to the side to get an advantage and a head start across the field.

Harry surged forward and quickly caught up.

When they finally left the sky to return to the house for the evening, Hermione waited for Harry outside the broom storage shed to hand him his moleskin which he had left sitting in the grass. He thanked her and hung it from his neck once again.

"I wanted to ask you about this," he held up the bag before hiding it beneath his clothes. "All that's in it, what's the meaning of them exactly?"

"That's another loaded question." Hermione smiled. "Let's help Mrs. Weasley with supper, then I'll do my best to explain."

"Maybe you could start with the broken wand," Harry suggested.

"Actually, it isn't," she corrected him with a sheepish look on her face as they neared the kitchen door where Ron and Ginny had already stepped inside. Pulling something from her back pocket, Hermione held up a perfectly formed, un-broken wand. "I was going to give it to you later," she explained before handing it to him.

"You fixed it." Harry hesitated only a moment before taking it cautiously between his fingers. An odd sensation ran up his arm causing him to smile involuntarily. If he doubted he was a wizard before that moment, the fear was now banished. The wand knew him, and he knew his wand.

"I wasn't sure it would even work, but I had to try. My wand didn't have any effect on it, but the Elder Wand did."

Harry looked at her in confusion.

"The wand you won from Voldemort, remember? The one you dropped outside the school this morning? I picked it up. I'm sorry, Harry. You don't realize it now, but that wand is important. It's rightfully yours, so I can give it to you also, but we must not lose it." She reached for her own bag to pull out the Elder Wand before Harry stopped her.

"Keep it for me, for now," he insisted. "I don't know what I would do with it."

"I don't either," Hermione insisted, "but I think I know who we can ask."

* * *

The following morning dawned overcast and cool. As the Weasley's set out to return to Hogwarts for their loved one's remains, Harry wished he had not indulged in so many of Molly's breakfast sausages. As he stood in line with the others to apparate, he felt queasy at the thought of being squeezed so mercifully and uncomfortably.

"Ready, Harry?" Hermione reached for his hand to help him through the process once again.

Before he could mutter a reply, Ginny appeared at his side.

"Makes you wish you had a broom again, doesn't it?" She smirked and slipped her hand into his free palm. "Just close your eyes and think of flying."

The girls simultaneously turned on the spot and dragged Harry rapidly through space, landing with a gentle thud outside the school gates. Harry inhaled sharply as strong winds nearly knocked him over. A chill gale blew in from the lake as clouds skittered across the sky over the mountain ridges. The castle lay in shadow and looked like an abandoned monument left to ruin.

The gates stood open, and Arthur and Molly led the way up the path to the school. Before reaching the front entrance, they ran into a crew conducting a series of spells to repair the damage of battle.

"Professor McGonagall," Arthur greeted the formidable witch who turned away from her work when they approached. She was using her wand to levitate a cumbersome boulder of stone from a heap of debris. She set it aside and greeted them with a weary expression. "Have you been at it all night?" Mr. Weasley asked with concern for the Professor's well-being.

"Not entirely," she responded, "but very nearly that. There is much yet to do and not enough of us to do it, I'm afraid."

"Well, we're here now. George and I will take over here and give you a rest. Ginny, go with your mother and help her prepare Fred's body." Arthur took charge and pulled out his wand as George did the same.

"Professor?" Hermione stepped forward.

"Ms. Granger," McGonagall nodded while assessing Harry with narrow eyes of contemplation. "Any improvement, Potter?"

"Very little," Hermione answered for him. "We need access to the headmaster's office, with your permission."

"You have it," she assented. "May I ask why?"

"We have a few questions for Professor Dumbledore."

The request did not seem strange to McGonagall, although Ron looked disturbed by it. Harry had been given an overview of who this Professor Dumbledore was and what he was supposed to mean to Harry from Hermione the night before. He too wondered what questions they could ask of the dead.

"The password is 'ginger newt.' Take all the time you need." McGonagall sent them off with her blessing. Hermione led the way through the front doors of the school and up the grand staircase.

"What is Dumbledore's portrait going to know about Harry's memory loss?" Ron asked as they climbed to the second floor landing.

"It doesn't hurt to ask, does it? Anyway," Hermione said, "that's only half of what I want to ask him. I want to know what he had intended to do with the Elder Wand. If nothing else, he can confirm or discourage our choice in the matter."

"Whatever you say, Hermione," Ron relented with a sigh. His mind was not on Elder Wands anyway, and he looked nearly as tired as Professor McGonagall as they ascended into the school on their way to the headmaster's office.

The corridors were busy with foot traffic of all kinds from house elves to the school ghosts. All were busy setting Hogwarts to rights and all were eager to take the opportunity to thank Harry and share their congratulations on defeating Voldemort. Many told of their losses of family and friends and hoped that they would see him attend the many funerals. Harry was soon overwhelmed despite Hermione's efforts to propel them along in a hurry to get to the headmaster's office and away from the grateful crowd.

"I don't even know what I've done," Harry muttered uncomfortably. "They're all thanking me for something I had no control over."

"That actually should feel familiar to you," Ron considered logically. "That sums up a great deal of your life, Harry."

Eventually they reached the revolving staircase guarded by the stone gargoyle. Hermione gave the password, and they instantly began to rise in an ascending spiral. The door to the office was already open when they arrived. As soon as Harry stepped across the threshold he was met with resounding applause from the occupants of the many portraits lining the walls.

"Well done, my boy!" One old wizard saluted him from above a bookcase.

"Hear, hear! Magnificent work, young man!"

Unsure of how to respond, Harry merely nodded and followed Hermione's lead to the headmaster's desk where she stood before a large painting of a bearded wizard wearing half-moon spectacles who smiled down on them with his twinkling eyes on Harry.

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione addressed the late headmaster.

"Wonderful to see you all," he greeted them warmly. "I trust that you are alright?"

"We are, yes, thank you, sir. That is, all of us but Harry. Something happened in the forest, Dumbledore. He lost his memory after Voldemort attempted to kill him."

"Yes, I have been informed of this setback," he nodded. "Curious turn of events, eh?"

"Yes, sir. Do you have any theories?"

"At least six, but none of them very plausible," Dumbledore responded.

"That's helpful," Ron muttered under his breath.

"Have you any faculties at all, Harry, or have you complete reverted to infancy?" Dumbledore asked.

"What?" Harry shifted awkwardly under the attention of the talking portrait and felt the weight of numerous sets of eyes from around the room. They were all listening intently while occasional whispered discourse of speculations flitted from frame to frame.

"Are you able to recall how to tie your trainers for example, or is everything blank?"

"Oh! Yeah, I can do things. I mean, I used a wand alright."

"He recalls spells, Dumbledore," Hermione clarified. "He knew what a Muggle was without explanation. There are things he knows, but memories of times, names, occurrences…these are all missing."

"I see," the professor considered what they said with intense curiosity. "How very interesting. Very interesting indeed."

"What do you think happened? Were his memories linked to the horcrux? Are they gone for good now that Voldemort is?"

"That is an excellent theory, Ms. Granger, one I too considered but believe it is not so. Had his memory been connected to the piece of Voldemort's soul it is likely it would have been erased entirely once it was destroyed. No recall of spells, no everyday common knowledge. No, it seems much more plausible that it was the effects of the killing curse which caused the memory loss. However, since Harry is the only one to have survived it, we have nothing in which to compare it to. It may be possible that the first time he endured the curse his one-year-old memory may have been erased as well. There is no way to tell."

"Will he ever get it back then?" Hermione asked, looking hopeful now that the theory of the horcux connection was dispelled.

"That remains to be seen. What do you think, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward in his frame to look down at the floor near the desk. "Your knowledge of horcuxes was much more extensive than mine."

"Snape?" Ron startled in surprise and moved around the desk in surprise. He found a framed portrait propped against the wall covered in a protective cloth. Removing the cover, he stepped back with a laugh of glee. "Look at that! They've got 'im on the floor."

Harry and Hermione moved around to get a look. The face which glared back at them through a shroud of black, stringy hair, scowled down his elongated nose.

"Temporarily on the floor," Snape informed them. "I have yet to be hung in my proper place."

"I'll say," Ron laughed again with a reprimand from Hermione.

"Don't be rude, Ronald," she hissed before nodding respectfully at Professor Snape. "Hello, Professor. Could you please share your insight? What do you think of Harry's condition?"

Snape looked up at Harry with narrow eyes before replying. "I agree with Dumbledore. His memory is not gone forever like the horcrux. It is likely it will return, in full, in time. Perhaps after some prompting."

"That's what we thought." Hermione looked further relieved. "We've talked about taking him back to places of importance. We've been telling him all we can recall to help compile memories for him."

Snape nodded. "It is a start. It is—"

"Hold on," Ron interrupted and stepped forward. Raising the frame off the floor, he stood behind it and held it up in front of his face so Harry and Hermione could see it better. "There, not so awkward." It would have been less awkward if not for the fact that it now appeared as if Professor Snape was wearing Ron's legs.

"It is a shame," Snape continued unaware, "that Harry did not store many of his memories for the Pensieve. Had he done so, he would simply have to watch them over again."

"That's it!" Hermione exclaimed. "Thank you, Professor! Dumbledore, may we? Could Harry borrow the Pensieve and your store of memories for Harry to view? So many of yours have to do with his past. He could re-learn all of it by seeing them."

"The Pensieve belongs to the headmistress now," Dumbledore reminded them. "I am almost certain Professor McGonagall would have no issue with you using it."

"We'll check with her first. This is fantastic, Harry! I think it will help immensely."

Harry was willing to try anything, although it didn't deter him from his first plan of action. "I still want to go visit my mum's sister."

Professor Snape's scowl deepened as he heard this. He exchanged a look with Dumbledore as Ron walked around the room with the portrait and stopped in front of a mirror for a look. He raised the frame high to elongate the appearance of conjoined bodies before dropping it to his torso for a two-headed effect.

"Stop that," Snape snapped. "Put me down, you nitwit."

Ron refused to do so, causing Hogwart's hindermost headmaster to walk out of his frame and disappear.

"Where'd he go?" Ron looked at the empty canvas with disappointment and finally set it back in it's place on the floor. "He's no fun."

"We need to go," Hermione steered him and Harry to the door before stopping again as she recalled something. "One last question though, Professor. The Elder Wand. It's Harry's now, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Dumbledore met Harry's eye with a serene smile and pride in his gaze.

"He can keep it then, and use it?"

"If that is his desire."

"You don't think I should?" Harry could tell without Dumbledore saying so.

"That is not for me to decide."

"Hermione said it used to be yours."

The headmaster nodded.

"And you used it?"

"Yes, Harry."

"Did it make you powerful?"

"More than for my own good," Dumbledore replied sadly.

Harry thought about this carefully, looking to Hermione for confirmation. They had already discussed what he should do with the wand if he didn't keep it. "Voldemort stole if from your grave," he said mostly to himself. "It belongs there, so I'll put it back." He looked up at Dumbledore whose smiled confirmed he chose rightly.

"Very well, Harry."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said before they reached the door.

"Certainly, Ms. Granger. And Harry?" Dumbledore waited for Harry to stop and turn around.

"Yes, sir?"

"Come visit anytime."

Harry promised that he would and stepped out onto the staircase behind the others.


End file.
